


The Library

by heroictype (swanreaper)



Category: Princess Tutu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-02
Updated: 2015-12-02
Packaged: 2018-05-04 14:20:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5337260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swanreaper/pseuds/heroictype
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Each time the prince looked at a storybook, he clasped his hands behind his back and wondered about the monsters that might be inside. Perhaps they needed a hero..."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Library

**Author's Note:**

> So, remember when I wrote fanfiction? Yeah. But this just kind of happened, and I think that should be encouraged. Practice never hurts! It got meta in a weirder way than I was envisioning, but I just wanted something with hints of fluff and I do like some sad prince.

Siegfried was never very interested in books. There was hardly time to read when your kingdom was at war with a vicious monster and his minions. The palace did, however, have a library.

He went there now and then, after he and Rue were married. He often did this alone, because the activity presented its own kind of conflict for him. He touched spines and traced letters; he pulled books down and examined bright, stamped covers. There were plays and poetry, stories and studies. He never opened one, except once a book on flowers. That one had beautiful illustrations and pages that felt like velvet, and he smiled while he looked through it.

He felt the bright colors tug at his heart, and then his heart lifted the corners of his mouth, and it was such a curious exercise that once he'd made the observation he had to close the book. He smiled often, now, and indeed he usually took no more notice than anyone else would. But sometimes he remembered that he couldn't remember how long he'd been unable to smile, and that was not a happy thought.

The library held many unhappy thoughts, although not as many as there were books. Each time he looked at a storybook, he clasped his hands behind his back and wondered about the monsters that might be inside. Perhaps they needed a hero, and he knew that most books would have them, but he also knew just how much trouble they'd be going through, and they still might not get a happy ending after all that.

One day, Rue found him with a book of ballads and a worried frown. She usually let him be; it was part of their learning. Sometimes, at night, he would cling to her too tightly, and sometimes, she still had to scrape scared and jealous words from her tongue. She bit them away with the tips of her teeth, when she saw him laughing with others of their court. Lately, though, she'd been laughing with them as often, entertaining them as a means of entertaining herself when the prince was inclined to solitude.

Today, though, she'd only thought it might be nice to read a book somewhere out of sight, where she could drape however she liked over the furniture. Her bed at Goldcrown had been a comfortable place to prepare for book reports. It sounded even better to read without having to worry about the contents, whether for a test or to shield it from irritated talons. She hadn't meant to find Siegfried, but there he was. She peered at the book in his hand, and her eyebrow lifted.

"Do you like those particularly?" She asked, and immediately scolded herself. That sounded terrible. Of course, he was at least interested! How terribly rude of her.

"I don't know," he replied. "I haven't read them. I don't think I will, today."

"Oh." She bought herself some time with the syllable, but she still couldn't come up with anything better than, "Why not?"

"It's strange, isn't it? We could be... living inside of something like this." He tapped the cover, and smiled at it. It was just a shade too sad to be called wry. He slipped the book back onto the shelf and turned to her, with his arms halfway raised and his hands tilted out in a helpless gesture. "I am afraid that don't know how to feel about that."

He wasn't expecting her to supply anything, and she didn't. Sometimes, he just needed time. Instead, she just offered her own opinion.

"I'd like to say it has nothing to do with us. But I understand, I think." She scanned the shelves, and then took his hand. Perhaps she could prove to him that they were real, or at least that they mattered, with physical contact. She tapped her chin with her other hand, frowning. "I wonder who wrote these?"

"I don't know that, either. If I asked after some of them, perhaps I could find them."

"Would you like to?"

"Yes, but not all..." He took the book back down again. They were just songs all gathered into one place, but it was a start. "I think will read some first, and find out who in these have been treated kindly, and who have not. And perhaps I will ask after those who have not."

"And if they argue? Some would say that not all stories can have a happy ending." She sniffed, and pressed a hand to his cheek, turning his face from the book to her so that he could see the steel glinting in her eyes. "Of course, I would tell them that we cannot always choose a happy ending, but when you are picking for someone else, why should you ruin their life?”

He nodded and took her hand, folding it over his own to kiss her fingertips. Now there was a lively gleam in his gaze, too, one that emphasized the soft angle of his smile. “Wise advice, I think, my princess. Thank you.”

“Ah. Oh, it’s no trouble,” she replied airily, though her blush gave away that, while it might not have been a trouble, his words had an effect.

“I’m glad. Then, perhaps... you would join me?” He asked, and he pulled another book down from the shelf and offered it to her. "Then I will be able to tell you what I like, or not."

Her mouth formed a small "o," but it soon broke into a smile. She took the book and lifted it open. It was full of love poems, because that was how these things went in stories, sometimes. She winced, and laughed, “Yes. This might not quite be what we’re looking for, but... it ought to do, for now. As long as you’ll remind me of better-spoken feelings from time to time as we work.”

“Naturally,” he assured her, taking her arm as they made their way to a table. He pulled out a chair for her, and she pulled out his, and they sat down together. They remained there for as much of the afternoon allowed, and also left with the books, filled with resolve for their tasks.


End file.
